Beyond "Reasonable"--August 7, 2023

Beyond "Reasonable"--August 7, 2023

"When it was evening, the disciples came to Jesus and said, 'This is a deserted place, and the hour is now late; send the crowds away so that they may go into the villages and buy food for themselves.' Jesus said to them, 'They need not go away; you give them something to eat.' They replied, 'We have nothing here but five loaves and two fish.' And he said, 'Bring them here to me.' Then he ordered the crowds to sit down on the grass. Taking the five loaves and the two fish, he looked up to heaven, and blessed and broke the loaves, and gave them to the disciples, and the disciples gave them to the crowds." [Matthew 14:15-19]

Honestly... nobody knew what was going to happen next.  But, for all the ways they could sometimes be dense or doubtful, in this moment, Jesus' disciples trusted his directions even when they made no sense, and they got to be participants in an utter miracle.

For all of us who have heard this story before (like many of us did this Sunday), the surprise miracle of a plot-twist is spoiled already.  We know what to expect.  We have been taught to call this story "The Feeding of the Five Thousand" (which gives away the ending right there in the title) rather than "The Time Jesus Told His Disciples To Do Something Crazy With Some Bread." But that familiarity means we might miss what a leap of faith it is for the disciples to do what Jesus says here.  And we might not realize how that foundation of trust makes it possible for them to play a role in Jesus' amazing act of love here for a hungry crowd of thousands.  

At the start of this story, Jesus' disciples actually sound like the collective voice of reason here. They're the ones gently nudging Jesus to call off his impromptu free clinic curing the sick until evening, and they're also the ones suggesting it might be wise to send the crowds home early enough that they could all find some food on their way home back to their villages and towns.  They're not being stingy, miserly, or selfish--they're just realistic about the size of the crowds, the lateness of the hour, and the utterly colossal amount of money and resources it would take to feed the literal thousands of people there on the hillside.  Their first proposal to Jesus ("Send the crowds home for today so that they can get back to their homes and get some food...") is a sensible plan to manage the large crowd and keep them from becoming a hangry mob (you know, being angry from being hungry is called "hangry," right?).  By contrast, when Jesus tells them to take what might have been a passable lunch for maybe two people and tell the thousands to sit down and get ready for a meal, it sounds patently absurd.  No rational person would look at the mere handful of morsels they had in hand and conclude, "This is enough for everybody here!" It wouldn't have even been enough for all the people in Da Vinci's Last Supper painting!

But when Jesus directs them to do it, the disciples dare to believe that there is a method to his madness.  They will trust him, and they will do as he asks, even if they don't know what he has in mind or up his sleeve.  They have faith in him--not merely in the academic, catechetical sense of "memorizing correct theological facts about Jesus"--but they trust him enough to do what he directs them to do, whether or not they understand what difference it could make.  Like the famous line from Dietrich Bonhoeffer's classic The Cost of Discipleship puts it, "Only those who believe are obedient, and only those who are obedient believe."  In other words, when Jesus tells you to have the crowd sit down and prepare to distribute five little dinner rolls to feed thousands of people, actually believing Jesus means doing what he says, regardless of your understanding of his plan.

That is precisely what the disciples do--they dare to believe him, by doing what he calls them to do. And when they carry out Jesus' directions on faith, they are part of a colossal act of compassion for the hungry crowds.  They are moved beyond what is "reasonable" to what embodies Christ-like love, by letting themselves become a part of Jesus' miraculous meal.  They don't know how he will provide for everyone, but they believe it is worth doing what he says--and so they help carry out a mass-feeding that communicated Jesus' love for all those people gathered in the grass.

Something changes in us when we let our first question be "What is Jesus' love for all people leading me to do, even if I don't see how it will work?" rather than "What is reasonable, rational, and sensible?"  It's fine to want to be logical, but Jesus is always going to reserve the right to pull us into something bigger than our minds can comprehend, and in those times, we need to be prepared to do what Jesus calls us to do whether or not it fits anybody else's definition of "reasonable."  Jesus' kind of compassion is always more than our tiny, shriveled, miserly thinking about being "reasonable" can grasp.

Today, there might be moments when you know you are being called to join into what Jesus is doing in our time and place--and you might not be able to see where it's leading, or how your part will make a difference.  Maybe sometimes the smallness of our efforts, our power, and the vastness of the need makes it seem futile and irrational to even try to do what Jesus calls us to.  Maybe it feels like taking five loaves and two fish and trying to feed thousands with it.  But... for the disciples, this became the moment they trusted Jesus even when they didn't know how his plan would work out, and because of that, they could be instruments of help and compassion on a huge scale.  When you think that your voice, your time, your efforts, and your energy are too small to make an impact for good, it's worth it to stop and say to yourself, "I will trust that Jesus knows what he's doing--and I will be a part of his movement of mercy in the world." That's how faith opens the door to a daring, vibrant love.

Lord Jesus, call us where you will, and give us trust enough in you to go where you lead, and to do what you call us to do, even if it seems impossible.